And she thanked God 
For his kindness and care, 
With her heart’s incense, 
That rose like a prayer. 
Thus pure and beautiful, 
Ne’er could she err; 
For she loved all things, 
And all things, her! 
So when Death came to her, 
With her last sigh, 
Up stole the Lily’s soul 
Into the sky! 
F. S. 0. 
LOVE IN A MIST.You bewilder me. 
l 
A FLOWER-CHARADE. 
The nymphs, in a pet, tripped to Venus one morn, 
And declared to the gay queen of Beauty, 
That the freaks of the first could no longer be borne, 
That he treated their maiden monitions with scorn, 
And laughed at their lessons of duty. 
They regretted to say that he dreamed but of play, 
While he vowed that he knew more than they did, 
And, for their part, they begged she would take him away, 
For with chiding and coaxing him, day after day, 
They were sure that their bloom was quite faded. 
“We would gladly,” they sighed, “keep his little wings tied 
But the moment we bind him, he cries out, 
‘No, no! let me go! I’ve a shaft—I’ve a bow.’ 
Then he sharpens his arrow, and frowns at us so, 
That we fear he will soon put our eyes out!” 
Fair Venus, amused at their innocence, smiled, 
But replied with her wonted suavity,— 
18 
